


Take My Yoke Upon You

by calvinahobbes



Category: White Collar
Genre: D/s, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, kinky not-porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calvinahobbes/pseuds/calvinahobbes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is having a bad day. Neal provides a distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Yoke Upon You

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by neekabe, whose fault this is anyway ;o) This is (probably) not part of the Six Lefts-verse. Yes, the title is a Bible quote (Matt 11:29) *shrug* Contains kiny not-porn (TM oper_1895) -- but in a fluffy way! Also containts lack of negotiation prior to a D/s scene.

The case is at an impasse, and Peter is in a mood. It's not obvious. He's not the type to go around slamming doors (not that any of the sleek glass doors in the office actually allow for slamming). Neal can tell, though, can tell from the way his words sound more forced, like he's trying hard not to clench his teeth, and his shoulders are set wide and rigid.

Neal is trying to appear inconspicuous at his desk, unbending a paperclip over and over while he pores over a file (there's always minor outstanding consults pending). He doesn't like it when Peter isn't happy, but he doesn't think that there's anything he can do or say to actually make it better. Apparently he's doing a poor job of being invisible, though. Peter's gaze hones in on him like a hawk's. Neal tries not to duck but feels himself twitch anyway.

"Stop that." Peter's staring pointedly at the maltreated paperclip. "You're destroying Bureau property."

Neal rolls his eyes and throws himself back in his chair. "Come on, Peter." If he really wants to pick a fight he could at least do a better job of it.

Peter steps up close to Neal's desk, a thunderous frown on his face. "You've got a whole pile of them!" He gestures to the two (two!) other unbent paperclips on the desk. "And sit up straight," he huffs.

The front legs of Neal's chair thump back onto the floor. He's not really conscious of doing it, but he figures it's best not to aggravate Peter further.

"And why are you wearing that hat? We're indoors!" Peter's scowl is pretty epic by now. Apparently he found something to do while they're waiting for the perps to slip up. "Take it off."

Neal thinks Peter's actually about to go away after that, but something happens in the time it takes Neal to reach for his hat and realize that he's putting it on the table. He feels that click, that burn in the back of his brain, and he thinks Peter sees something in his face change. Neal looks up at him, hand still resting gently on the hat.

"Let go," Peter says, and his voice is completely changed. It's low and deep and gentle. When Neal takes his hand away and places it on the table top he's completely aware of doing it. Peter studies him, his dark eyes resting on Neal's face so long that Neal wants to look away.

Peter turns on his heel. "Okay, get up, come on." He's already moving towards the door.

Neal takes a few steps, then hesitates. "Peter?" Peter turns around, eyebrow arched like he's about to complain. Neal points up to Peter's office. "Your coat and brief case."

Peter's mouth purses into something like a smile. "Good. Go get them."

Neal doesn't stop himself from grinning back, and takes the steps two at a time. He carefully packs the right files into the brief case, checking quickly to make sure, and folds the coat neatly over his arm.

As he comes back down the stairs, Peter calls out to the room, "Everyone, let's wrap this up. Come back rested tomorrow." He's holding the door open when he looks at Neal again. "Hat!" he says, and Neal doubles back to his desk quickly to retrieve it.

Neal is fidgeting the whole way home. He's squirming in his seat, smoothing Peter's coat over and over again. He peeking at him out the corner of his eye, hoping that if he just squirms long enough, Peter will tell him to stop. But Peter is ignoring him completely, humming and whistling and talking back to the radio. Neal briefly considers changing the station or saying something cheeky, but decides not risk changing the mood of whatever this is.

In the house they're greeted by an enthusiastic Satchmo. Elizabeth's business voice is drifting down from the upstairs study. Neal barely has time to take off his hat and bend to greet Satch, before Peter says, "Get on your knees."

Neal looks up at him, possibly a little wide-eyed. Peter doesn't look particularly angry, just determined. It's the look he has when it's best not to argue. The fidgety feeling he had in the car seems like it's slowly being burned away by the warm buzzing in his head. Neal glances at the floor, but doesn't dare hesitate before he sinks down. Peter's hand is briefly in his hair, then he walks to the kitchen, and Satchmo follows. Neal feels oddly bereft, caught somewhere between the excitement of doing what Peter wants and the desire to be closer, to not be left alone right now.

The fridge opens and closes, and the chink-fizz of a beer bottle opening precedes Peter back out of the kitchen. Neal expects him to come back, to give him something else to do, to _talk_ to him, but Peter simply walks right past him to the recliner, where he sits down with a deep sigh and turns the television on.

Neal almost can't believe it. He feels like he missed part of the conversation. There was no conversation! What right does Peter have to just start something without discussing it first? For a few minutes he's stewing in all these feelings of anger and abandonment and lack of control. He considers getting up, but the buzzing intensifies at that thought. He shifts carefully to a more comfortable kneel and thinks it through.

Peter's had a bad day, nothing has gone according to plan or profile. On bad days Neal needs to feel like it's not his fault, that someone else is there to make the tough choices for him, and all he has to do is follow orders. It makes him feel safe. Handing the reigns over to Peter makes him feel in control of not being in control. Peter is the opposite; he needs to feel that at least some small part of the world is actually at his command. For a while now Neal has been making it clear that he's willing to follow that command. If Peter needs his help to feel in control, Neal will give his all, without complaint.

It's easier said than done, though. It's not exactly comfortable resting on his knees on the hardwood floor, and it's distracting him. He still feels alone. He tries to focus on the fact that he's doing it for Peter. He trusts Peter, and Peter trusts him to do this. At that thought a genuine warm glow of excitement runs down his spine, setting off butterflies in the pit of his stomach.

For a while these sensations keep him interested. He's honestly excited about staying there, doing a good job. Then he hears Elizabeth's feet in the hallway and coming down the stairs. He braces himself for some sort of interaction; Peter didn't specify silence so he thinks it will be okay. But Elizabeth doesn't even look at him. She walks right past him, just like Peter did, and goes to give Peter a kiss. They talk about dinner and "how was work?", and Neal feels the resentment brewing -- they could at least acknowledge his presence! Before long Elizabeth goes to get started on dinner, and Peter follows as soon as another set of commercials come on.

Neal is busy nursing his bruised craving for attention, when Peter smiles at him as he passes by. That's all it takes for him to ignore everything else. His knees are creaking, possibly only audible to him, and his back is starting to ache. But there's a warm glow settling over him, slowly. A sense of pride that he's doing good. Peter and Elizabeth are talking in the kitchen, in warm soothing voices, but he can't make out the words. The smell of food spreads slowly through the house, and he feels himself gradually slipping away into some state between sleep and wakefulness.

By the time Peter and Elizabeth sit down to eat, he isn't even expecting to be called for. A part of him actually worries briefly that Peter will come get him. He wants to stay a little longer. He wants to prove he can be good. He can do this. A little longer.

It feels like hours have passed, and it feels like only minutes. He isn't consciously aware of Peter coming up to him, only notices a few seconds before Peter's hand is back in his hair, resting heavily. Peter crouches in front of him, catches his eyes and just looks for a while. Neal waits. He feels pleasantly empty and carefree.

"That was great, Neal. You did so good." Peter isn't smiling. He's being very serious. Neal smiles, he can't help it, can't fight the dopey grin blooming across his face. At this, Peter grins at him, ruffles his hair.

"Get up, come have some dinner." Peter helps him up, steadies him as the blood suddenly runs freely to Neal's legs again. They stand like that for a little while, clasped at the elbows, and wait. Then Neal stumbles forward into an awkward, not really planned, hug. Peter grips him tightly and simply holds on as Neal clings gratefully.

"Come on Neal, I kept dinner warm for you," Elizabeth says behind them. She holds out her hand, and Neal takes it. She leads him to the table, where only one place setting remains, plate piled high with food. Neal settles down to eat, suddenly ravenous, and Elizabeth settles next to him, Peter opposite.

While he eats, they talk to him. At first it's mainly Elizabeth telling him about her day, Peter supplying questions and observations, and Neal concentrates on eating and listening. But slowly he starts to warm to the topic, asks his own questions, provides suggestions. Before he knows it they're laughing and talking. He's basking in the glow of their attention, but the feeling is laced with something different, something new -- a sense that he's done something great, something no one else could have done for them.

Neal looks at Peter, looks at El. "Thank you," he says, his turn to be very serious this time.

Elizabeth puts a hand on his arm and squeezes. "No, thank you, Neal."

Peter smiles at him, and Neal feels a swell of affection and pride. He put that smile there.


End file.
